


After the War

by Elektra Pendragon (elekdragon)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (TV 2008), Star Wars: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss
Genre: Episode Related, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mando'a, mandalorian culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elekdragon/pseuds/Elektra%20Pendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rex brings Waxer's helmet home to Boil. </p>
            </blockquote>





	After the War

**Author's Note:**

> I was simply broken after the Krell arc. I'm borrowing heavily from the Mandalorian culture for this fic. Rex doesn't get it quite right, but he tries.  Title from Paul Gross and David Keeley's song "After the War."

_Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la._  
"Not gone; merely marching far away."  
\--Mandalorian Proverb. 

 

The barracks were quiet, strangely so. An unusually large number of soldiers were present, usually a recipe for a ruckus, but every one was still reeling from the unimaginable betrayal by a Jedi General. Brothers killing brothers, on a Jedi's order--based on a Jedi's lie.  

Kaminoans would have recommended "decommissioning" those affected by Umbara before word of the betrayal poisoned the ranks, but the Jedi were more merciful than that. Healers had been sent instead, these whispering robed Jedi who had tried to placate and reassure the men they had been betrayed not by a Jedi, but by a monster. They had waved their hands and created music with their minds. They could never understand how deep the deplorable actions of General Krell had shaken the clones--down to their very souls. 

Rex walked past silent bunks, empty training grounds, stunned soldiers. Each face identical in their pain. He had so many men he needed to visit before Skywalker arrived to debrief him, but he had a special duty to perform first. The empty helmet in his hands was heavy with the weight of that duty.

Death was always a part of life, perhaps even more so for clone troopers than for the average sentient. Imperfect clones were destroyed in statis before their incubation was even completed. Those who survived could be "reconditioned" for not performing within expected parameters--anything from a slight deviation in eyesight to being a quarter-second slower than his brothers. Then there were the live-fire exercises, started when the boys were 5 years old.

Death was constantly around the clone troopers, even before they went to war.  After Geonosis, it simply became more distant. Brothers may not find out the loss of entire squads until months after the fact. There was rarely a body; even if one were recovered it was often buried or burned on the spot, not worth the cost of transport to the Republic. The armor, at least, could be brought back to the commanders and brothers as proof that, once, another soldier had existed, unique and precious.

Once the Jedi had claimed their grand army, the clone troopers were at last able--and encouraged--to display their individuality for all to see. Heresies that would have once resulted in reconditioning were now celebrated by the strange new generals. Colors, sigils, kill counts, words... The once undifferentiated white became a riot of color and design. Each marking on a soldier's armor was important to him, and displayed with pride.

Rex stared at the brilliant, happy eyes of the Twi'lek girl painted on the front of Waxer's helmet. Despite the fighting, despite the death, the portrait was still bright and crisp. A bit of dirt clung to the shadow of one lekku; Rex carefully brushed it away. It seemed obscene to have even that small bit of Umbara touching such a picture of innocence. 

You could not have looked at Waxer without the bright Twi'lek child smiling at you.  She meant something special to Waxer: a reason to always push forward and defend the Republic. 

Rex flipped the empty helmet over, turning it into the light. Inside, scratched deep into the duraplast inner armor, was a single word--a name. The letters were crooked and rough, indecipherable to all but a rare species of fighter. Any clone who found it on the battlefield would know; like the Mandalorian who had sold his DNA to give birth to a massive army, all clones shared the mercenary's secret language. It was used for those messages that the Kaminoans and the Jedi were never meant to understand. 

Rex's index finger traced the scrawl, as he had done countless times in the days since Umbara. Yes, the Twi'lek girl had meant something to Waxer--but the name represented someone who had meant something more. 

"Boil," Rex sighed sadly, his heart aching as badly as it had on Umbara, as he had watched Waxer die. He had never known how important the two clones were to each other. No one had--except, perhaps, that little girl. 

It was more than Rex's duty to return Waxer's helmet to Boil. It was his honor.

Once he found Boil on his bunk, Rex knew that the man had already heard. Of course he had. The Jedi didn't want to hide anything; Waxer's tally would have been listed among the day's dead long before the gunships left the dark Umbaran soil. 

Boil's red-brown eyes were hollow, with dusky bruises beneath. His mouth was stiff and still, an unusual look on a man known for his charming crooked smile and sarcastic wit. Boil took a moment to meet his eyes, before he levered himself to stand at attention. 

"Ner vod," Rex whispered. They clasped forearms, a sharp movement with a powerful grip, quickly dropped. Then Rex presented the helmet. 

Boil carefully took it in his hands, his fingers caressing the neck seals briefly. Like a string cut, he fell back to sit on the cot, his eyes locked to the very center of the dark T-slit in the helmet. 

Rex squatted in front of Boil, and reached out to grip Boil's wrist. He bowed his head as he lent his silent strength to the bereaved. It was not the first time he had delivered news to a brother, and it was certainly nowhere near the last time he would in this long war. But it was always a special pain when it involved brothers who were bonded beyond blood, closer than any outsider may have thought they ever could be. Even in this army, even for clones, men could become bonded through a love greater than brotherhood. 

Boil made an odd noise, part laugh, part something else. Rex raised his eyes, watching as Boil traced the cartoonish sketch of the Twi'lek girl. "Numa." Boil briefly met Rex's eyes before dropping them back to the drawing. "Her name was Numa. She saved us on Ryloth. Just this tiny girl.  But she was a warrior at heart. Brave." He ran a finger around her round cheeks. "We talked about going back for her. We all know what can happen to a child in war, especially a Twi'lek. We thought, maybe," Boil took in a deep breath, ragged and full of pain. "Maybe we could save her. Teach her to fight. Make her a real soldier."

Rex could imagine how they had felt. It was an urge Rex often had around the young ones, like Ahsoka or the cadets; the need for an _ad'ika_ , a son or daughter to call his own. A connection to a life beyond the battlefield. A few months earlier, Rex had seen such peace on the face of a clone who had deserted the army and found a wife and children to claim. That peace was so tempting. 

"Not that we would leave our brothers," Boil added, as though he read something in Rex's thoughts. "But, after. After the war." 

Rex squeezed the wrist under his hand, unsure of how to answer. 

Boil nodded his head, accepting Rex's quiet support. He twisted the helmet in his hands, his fingers finding the same letters that had brought Rex here. The letters that represented Waxer's secret heart. Boil sucked in a breath, then hissed it out slowly between his teeth. 

"He was always drawing me out, making me feel..." Boil shook his head, throwing off the sentiment. "He was the one to make friends with Numa, to understand her. He could read people like a Jedi." His voice cracked with the last word, a new pain brought about by the word they had all once spoken with such reverence. 

"After the war," he whispered, touching the letters lightly. "Always the optimist." The crooked smile returned, twisting Boil's mouth into an intriguing line, and Rex could easily understand how these two had found their love. 

 _Aay'han_ , the Mandalorians called it. Happy remembrance in the grip of great sorrow. It was a feeling all too familiar to the clones. They could not survive the endless loss without the joy of living to balance it. 

Rex remembered a line of a Mandalorian prayer to the dead, one he'd heard an ARC trooper recite over a fallen brother. Unable to recall the entire thing, Rex recited the part he could recall. "We will remember him, so he is eternal."

"Eternal. Until the last of us are forgotten." Boil pulled away from Rex's reach, leaning back on his sleep couch to lay the helmet on his chest, the little girl's painted eyes smiling at him.

Rex stood, leaving Boil to his mourning. He deserved whatever time he had, in this odd peace awarded to those left devastated by the carnage of Krell. Rex had many more men to visit, to give what comfort he could. 


End file.
